


To the Ripples of Us

by ahrent



Series: Walk into the Tide [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gardener Dean, I said hah, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Sick Dean, Sick Dean Winchester, Teacher Castiel, and I filled in more angst, fill in the fluff they said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahrent/pseuds/ahrent
Summary: He laughed. They fell asleep tangled together like the vines in their garden. The room was silent, but they were supernovas.The first time Castiel met Dean was at a wedding.It was a good beginning.





	1. Like They Were Stars

Swing music. The flowers tickled his nose and hung down over his food. The center pieces really were quite large. Happy people on the dance floor. Cold champagne. Castiel poked a small leaf away from his roast potatoes with a fork. It was non-edible, presumably. The groom laughed. Castiel snuck another glance off to the corner.

Meg fell into the chair next to him, breathless and smirking. She jostled his shoulder a little on her way down but straightened up quickly. 

”You should go talk to him!” She said loudly. The music was at a very decent volume. She needn’t have raised her voice so much.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castiel answered. He took another sip of champagne and tried not to look towards the corner.

”The hot best man you’ve been staring at all night, you dingus.” She took some food off his plate. There was a non-edible leaf in there but she didn’t seem to notice. ”Go over there, introduce yourself! He’s probably bi.”

”Meg,” Castiel sighed. 

”Hey, I know things.” 

 

.

 

They didn’t dance. 

Mrs. Ridgley had started jabbering about a conga line, so Castiel had put on his best smile for charming old ladies and said, ”actually, I’m going to need Dean for some urgent wedding business. There has been a slight inconvenience with the band. I do hope that’s not too much trouble.”

”Oh, dear, oh, dear, of course not darlings! You’re such good boys, helping out with the wedding, Sam and Jessica are ever so happy you know.” He could tell she was on a roll, so he politely took Dean’s elbow in his hand and pulled him away. 

He let go when they got out on the balcony. He could have let go earlier. 

Stars shone. Fairy lights dangled from everywhere. Dean’s laughter was throaty and warm and it made Castiel’s heart pound against the inside of his chest. It was insane, they’d never spoken before. He wasn’t even sure… he didn’t know if these last few months had even registered for anyone other than him. Had Dean even looked at him? 

”Thanks, dude,” Dean said, grinning, still chuckling. His eyes were brighter with the reflection of fairy lights and something more. ”The  _last thing_  I want tonight is to be in a conga line. You’re my hero.”

Castiel tried to find his voice. ”What… what would you like to do instead?”

Dean shrugged and looked away, sipping his champagne. He made it look so effortless. The buttons on his suit jacket were undone, and his tie was a little crooked as he leaned his elbows on the railing, glass hanging dangerously from his fingers. Except not dangerously. Castiel trusted those fingers more than he trusted this balcony to stay fused to the building. And he didn’t even  _know_  those fingers.

He had to quickly look away. Perhaps the dark would hide his blush. It was night and everything was framed in dancing light. 

”What was your name again?” Dean asked. Which hurt a little.

”… Castiel.”

He nodded, ”that’s what I thought. Can I call you Cas?”

”… Yes.”

”Hi, Cas.”

”Hello, Dean.”

”I hate champagne.”

”I think it’s okay.”

”Do you want some beer?”

”There is no beer.”

”Cas, you don’t know me very well yet. You’re about to.”

Dean’s eyes were very, very green. 

 

.

 

”Wait, wait, wait,” Dean laughed. He was pressing a hand against the center of Cas’ chest which was doing all sorts of things that made it difficult for him to remember what they had been talking about. ”You’re telling me you haven’t watched  _any_  of the Indiana Jones movies? That guy is a  _legend_.”

Cas shrugged.

”We need to fix this, like, immediately. You should come over to my place and watch them. Right now.”

”Dean, the wedding isn’t over.” 

Dean stepped a little closer. His hand wasn’t pressing against Cas’ chest anymore, it was just… resting there. ”Really? ’Cause I seem to remember vows and rings and a big white dress.”

”There’s still the cake.” Cas said, in a daze because Dean was just grinning at him like there was nothing else. Like the people around them were dust, and the room was a void. Like the two of them were stars. Blinding each other.

”Right,” Dean said, and stepped back. ”we can’t miss the cake.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first time they kissed they were in Dean’s car. And it was like they were in high school except Cas didn’t do things like this when he was in high school. He didn’t get dropped off home after a date, having held someone’s hand over the gear shift for the last half hour. He didn’t get guys – men – like Dean Winchester. 

Dean looked a little embarrassed. He was hiding it though. ”You see now why I don’t trust that  _Fiat_  of yours?” He said ’fiat’ like it was a dirty word. He never said dirty words like they were dirty words. ”This is how a car is supposed to sound.”

The car was turned off. But Cas knew what he meant.

”It’s like whiskey.” Cas said, stroking his thumb over a callous on Dean’s palm.

”What?”

”It sounds like whiskey tastes.”

”I didn’t peg you for a whiskey drinker.”

”I really like… your car.”

Dean’s mouth twitched into a smile. ”Yeah?”

Cas nodded. Was Dean soft or rough? As he let his hand tighten, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was a little bit of both. Rough but soft around the edges. Or the other way around. Soft inside. With kind eyes and a fragile smile.

”Well.” Dean cleared his throat. ”Of course you do, everyone should, it’s a fucking awesome car. Not everyone does, though. Some people think it’s… you know… out of style. Unreliable. Rude.”

”I think it’s brilliant.”

”That’s because you’re brilliant.”

His words came so quickly. Cas wanted to be brave too. 

”I’m not talking about the car.” 

Dean’s hand spasmed in his. 

“Dude, I know.” 

He didn’t let go of Cas’ hand when he kissed him. Just unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned as far over as he could and first, just touched their noses together for a second, and then–

Cas couldn’t think. Not past the soft lips against his and the rough stubble scratching his chin. Not past the way his own hand has pressed against Dean’s heart, and could feel it beating so hard. Pressure he hadn’t realised was there, in his chest like a bubble fit to burst, released. His strings were cut. And with everything he had he let himself fall. Dean made a noise in the back of his throat and Cas gripped him as tight as he could.

 

* * *

 

”Sam, something’s wrong.”

”Who is this? Cas?”

”Yes. I need your help.”

There was movement on the other end of the line.

”I’m on my way, what’s going on? Is Dean hurt?”

”No. Yes. Broken wrist, nothing bad.  Or… I don’t know, Sam.”

”Cas… you sound… tell me what’s going on.”

 

.

 

Cas goes to Sam’s house. The door opens before he can knock and Sam looks scared. He invites Cas in without saying anything. Sits him down on the couch, presses coffee into his hands, collapses in the armchair across the little table, without saying anything. Then he sighs, heavily. 

His voice is so very small then. Too small to fit under high ceilings and in a broad chest cavity. “I think I might know what this is about.”

“He didn’t remember meeting me.” Cas hears the words but they don’t feel like his. “There was one other time, at his work I… I thought I might have been forgettable because he remembered again and the next time he saw me he was so happy but we were… we were on a date, we’ve been dating for– he didn’t know who I was, Sam. I was holding the receipt of a 80 dollar dinner we just shared and I drove him to the emergency room and then he looked up and he didn’t–”

Sam took the mug out of his hands. They were shaking. He hadn’t realised. Sam looked so scared. 

“I thought he was stressed, at first,” Sam said, voice still so very quiet. “He started getting forgetful, just little things. He would call and ask if I’d borrowed the car because it wasn’t where he left it, and he’d forget when we decided to meet,  _that_  we had decided to meet. Then, he saw Jess’ ring one day and got all loud and chewed me out for not telling him we’d gotten engaged. That was two weeks before the wedding. I– I thought he was joking, that it was a bit or something–” He buried his head in his hands. “I should have realised. I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s nothing but the second you called it all came rushing back. He would never forget you, Cas. Never.” Sam looked up at him. “Something’s wrong.”

 

* * *

 

(Dean pulled away for a second, “I’m– You’re– Cas, I don’t know how to–”

“Just kiss me.”

“Okay.”

“Just keep kissing me.”)

 

* * *

 

“I want to make it through the Iliad in the original Greek.”

Dean pondered for a moment, “I want to build a real porch.”

“I want to write more.”

“I wanna visit Sam more.”

“I want to sell my car.”

“Holy shit, really?” Dean laughed incredulously. 

“Yes,” Cas dragged his nails carefully to and fro across Dean’s arm and Dean shivered, “You have made several good points.”

“I want to drive you everywhere.” Dean grinned.

“I want to go to Rome.”

“I want to go to the Grand Canyon again.”

“I want to go with you.”

“I want to bring you literally everywhere I go.”

“That will be inconvenient.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I want you to come to my school for career day.”

Dean scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you would inspire them. Because your job is difficult and important.”

“I… I want to drink less.”

“I want to help you.”

Dean carefully looked away, but leaned closer. “I want to plant a tree. Maybe apple.”

“I want to make apple pie for you with apples from that tree.” 

“I want to teach you to make apple pie, because I don’t want to die.”

“I want to make out with you.”

Dean flashed him a startled grin. His eyes were shining. “You said ‘make out’.”

“I want to make you happy.”

The grin slid off Dean’s face. Replaced by a look Cas couldn’t read. On the TV, the countdown started, and people started shushing each other. Sam giggled loudly from somewhere. Dean had been right, he really shouldn’t make his own drinks.

“ _Cas_ …”

Everyone around them were chanting,  _nine, eight, seven_ –

“I would give you anything. I would do anything for you.” He was hurrying. He wanted to get it all out before the countdown ends. He was not sure why. But his heart was clenching painfully and Dean was staring at him and the room was somewhere else and– “No matter what happens, in health or– or sickness–”

“Cas…” Dean started shaking his head.

_Four, three, two_ –

“Yes, Dean. I don’t care. I want to do everything with you, I’ll do it twice if you forget.”  _One_ … “I love you.”

The ball dropped, people paired off to kiss, cheer, ran outside to watch the fireworks across the night sky. 

Cas ran the tips of his fingers across Dean’s cheeks. “Don’t worry, no one is looking.” He murmured, catching another tear by Dean’s jaw.

They kissed.

This was a good beginning.

 

* * *

 

Cas was just getting more coffee. Outside the window Dean’s garden was a tousled kaleidoscope of vines and flowers, hedges allowed overgrown. The little table where they’d discussed the meaning of names. Red, blue, lilac. Soft.

Dean’s house smelled of coffee, wood, leather. Perhaps it would one day smell of books too. Perhaps one day Cas would cram his many volumes into the rickety bookcases in the living room. Perhaps he could have a study. The guest room was barely used, Dean had said. They could paint it. His desk would fit. They could buy more shelves, they could put fairy lights in the garden. 

A tingle ran up his spine as he remembered Dean’s smile, his shining eyes, the backdrop a soft bokeh out on that balcony. 

He considered the word  _life_. 

The coffee maker clicked off, and Cas filled their cups. He stopped in the doorway to the living room to watch. Just a second. A second for him to soak in what is as sunlight on his skin. Dean was on the couch, socked foot rapidly tapping against the carpet and he was humming something Cas didn’t recognise. The book he was reading was a gift. At first he hadn't like it, but yesterday he had called Cas and without even saying hello, started in on how Crowley was making terrible choices. 

Cas’ favourite cereal was in the kitchen. He had a toothbrush in the bathroom upstairs. He slept here, he kept work clothes here, Dean was trying to make him do laundry, weren’t they already both living here? In all the ways that counted, this was home. He could bring it up. He could just… ask. 

“Dean, I was wondering–”

Dean dropped his book with a yell. He spun around so quickly he almost fell off the couch and said something like “What the– son of a– fu– shit– what the hell–”.

Cas’ stomach dropped.  _Not now, please not now_ . He was in Dean’s  _house_ , he was holding two cups of coffee, he wasn’t even wearing shoes it would look– what would Dean think?  _I love you_ , he tried to bury the words, even from himself.  _I love you, I love you, don’t turn around and look at me with nothing in your eyes, don’t turn around and not know me, love me back, love me back, Dean please love me back_. 

“Son of a bitch, babe, you scared the hell out of me. When did you get here?”

The floor swayed under him. He desperately tried to blink away frightened tears.  _Act like nothing’s wrong, that’s what he needs, act like nothing’s wrong. Be comforting._

“Cas, you okay?” And then Dean was right there, putting his hands on Cas’ hips, where they belonged by all decent laws of the universe. He touched a thumb to Cas’ lower lip, “you look upset.”

“No,” Cas said, “Nothing’s wrong,” He kissed him, because he couldn’t not. “I am here because I– I missed you. Thought I would drop by and… is that okay?”

Dean laughed a little, “yeah, of course. I missed you too.” They kissed again. “Are you holding coffee?”

“... Yes. I thought you might like some.”

Dean stepped in close. Cas struggled to keep hold of the cups and not put his hands on him. Dean who still knew him, who hadn’t forgotten completely, not this time. 

“You little sneak,” he murmured. “Who would have thought… and, uh, you know what?” His hand stroked the back of Cas neck, their lips were almost touching. “I really would like some.” 

Dean took the cups out of his hands and put them on the table. He was back before there was time to miss him, and then Cas could touch. Perhaps he held him a little tighter than usual. Perhaps his breath caught for different reasons. When Dean dragged him to the couch, perhaps he was relieved they weren’t going upstairs because then Dean would see the case for Castiel’s glasses on one bedside table, and his shoes by the window. When Dean grinned and pulled apart the buttons of his shirt, and Cas’ hands gripped at his hair and made sure he could see his eyes, he was looking for any flicker of– any sign of what he could see in there slipping away. When they kissed, perhaps Cas was trying to memorise it. 

As Dean sighed and sunk into him, lips pressed against his throat, and whispered “ _it’s been so long_ ,” Cas thought  _no, it hasn’t_. 

But he gripped Dean as tight as he could, moved against him urgently, laughed breathlessly when he started murmuring half-finished praise. And when a tear leaked out and ran across Cas’ temple, and Dean’s brushed it away with a concerned murmur, he just smiled. 

 

* * *

 

(“Dean…”

“Yeah?”

“No, just…  _Dean_.” 

“I’m here.”)

 

* * *

 

When he found out, he hadn’t said a word. He had been silent all the way back from the hospital, and he didn’t stop at the house. He had driven straight to Singer and Sons and got out of the car. Cas followed him. Having nothing to say, it was the only thing to do. Just walk after him, watch his jerky movements, wait, think. 

Dean had picked up a wrench. His last couple of steps toward the beat up old Ford sitting in a corner had been long and urgent. When he started beating it, he started screaming. When he smashed the windows, Cas cried.

 

* * *

 

The first time Dean said  _I love you_ , he was worried Cas didn’t already know. He had been holding on to the words for a long time. It was clear in his voice. Cas knew it was written all over his face too, even though he couldn’t see in the dark. He was close to sleep when Dean moved. The sheets rustled quietly and Dean’s fingers hesitatingly stroked his hairline. Cas didn’t move. This was not an uncommon occurrence. Sleep was easy for Dean. He could hide behind it. 

“Are you asleep?”

Cas opened his eyes. He sounded so fragile. “No, I’m awake.”

Dean’s fingers did not leave his hair. He leaned over Cas, up on one elbow, close and warm and so soft. “You know…” Dean cleared his throat. He was shaking. 

Cas moved into him. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s bare back, pushed gently until they fell back on the mattress, kissed his shoulder, pulled the covers over them. He tangled their legs together. There was close enough, and there was too far away. This was almost close enough. 

“I need you to know…” That he had ever wondered about the softness of this man, that he had ever thought he was anything less than this. Soft, soft, soft, soft. Dean stroked his cheek. He was breathing too quickly. 

“It’s okay, Dean.” Cas murmured. 

“It’s not, it’s  _not,_ I need you to know. You’ve been doing everything, you’ve been the one saying things, and you’ve been here when you didn’t have to, and you’ve made me laugh, and you bought me a tree, and you  _sold your car_  because of my advice, you actually listen to me, and you’ve been doing all the brave things and I’ve just been… It’s not fair to you, any of this.”

Cas brushed a kiss against his lips.

“I need you to know that I love you."

The night sky, stars and galaxies spinning in infinity, exploding and creating did not hold a candle to this. Nothing compared.

"And I loved you long before I got… got sick. I keep thinking– I’m  _scared_  that you don’t know that loving you has nothing to do with what you’ve done for me. Loving you is… not circumstantial. It would have happened anyway. It was always gonna happen. I love you in every version of myself, in every… alternate fucking universe there is. Sick, healthy… in a post apocalyptic world run by machines– I love you–”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I know.”

He laughed. They fell asleep tangled together like the vines in their garden. The room was silent, but they were supernovas.


	2. And Still After That?

Cas trudged up towards the house, shifting his hold on the plastic bags to try to get some blood back into the tips of his fingers. He sidestepped a rake. Dean never really got far with the yard work. Cas thought he enjoyed it unkempt. Last week he had spent hours carefully pulling weeds by the azaleas but raking leaves? Yeah no, that rake was going to be abandoned.

Yeah, no? He was starting to sound like Dean.

He was smiling when the door slammed open. “Cas? _Cas!_ ” The smile dropped as quickly as the stone lodged in his stomach. He let go of the bags and grabbed at Dean because Dean was right there suddenly, frantic hands shaking against his neck and waist.

“Dean? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Some small part of his mind knew the milk had burst open and was running across the grass. That could not be good for the wild strawberries.

“You’re back, thank god you’re back. I’m _so sorry_ , it was a stupid fucking fight–” Dean was speaking as quickly as he could, hurriedly stroking the side of Cas’ neck with his thumb. “I didn’t even mean any of it. It’s just– Sam was pissing me off this morning, I was on edge, shouldn’t have taken it out on you–”

“Dean, please–”

“No, let me apologise. I _know_ you don’t care about me having a fucking college education. You never have, I was pushing your buttons which was a dick move but you _left_ – I mean you walked out–”

“Dean, love, wait,” Cas grasped his face with both hands, pressed their lips together. Dean relaxed as if his strings had been cut.

“It hit me so suddenly,” Dean murmured. “How fucking dumb I was being.”

Cas pulled back just slightly. Dean looked so worried, had thought he’d left. This part never became easy.

“That argument… It was a couple of weeks ago. We made up. It’s okay.”

Dean stilled against him. His eyes shuttered. “Oh.” Then he was silent for several moments. Then he pulled back.

He looked away and awkwardly scratched his neck, “well, I guess that explains why I came to my senses so suddenly,” he was noticing the bags on the ground and Cas knew that tightness of his shoulders, “and shit, you were just getting groceries weren’t you? And I full on frontal assaulted you. That’s not cool.” He bent and started shoving vegetables back into the plastic bag. Cas tried to imagine the confusion he must have been feeling, the stress of again and again having to face the very real consequences of that tiny little fault folded into his brain.

Cas grabbed the other bag, ignored the milk on his fingers, and followed Dean into the house.

Dean was still muttering to himself, looking on edge and uncomfortable. Cas made him leave the bag on the kitchen counter then grabbed his hand. He looked sad.

“How do you feel?”

Dean shook his head, “Embarrassed? Never mind, don’t worry about it. Let’s just– make dinner or something. Is it dinner time?”

“If you wanted to talk to me about it–”

“ _No_ … Thanks, but… I really don’t.”

“Okay.” Cas kissed his knuckles. “When we made up, I assured you that your intelligence and resolve amazes me every day.”

Dean smiled just a little. “I’ll remember that soon.”

 

* * *

 

“It happens instantly. I look up and I don’t know where I am or how I got there. And people are looking at me like–”

“I know.”

“I hate that look in people’s eyes, it sucks, it fucking… _sucks_.” He dragged his hand through his hair.

“You don’t usually… talk about it.” Cas said it carefully. Wishing he was brave enough to do something, brave enough to even place a hand on his shoulder. But Dean was so frantic in his stillness. Something was thrumming under his skin and Cas was afraid to waken it.

“No, I don’t.” Dean took a long drag from his beer.

They didn’t speak for a while. Cas let his eyes rest on the piles of new planks, the places where the porch was beginning to take shape, and the places where is was still a skeleton. They were sitting on lawn chairs on the grass.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Would you look at me?” He asked. He hated the way his voice sounded. He hated the way Dean held that bottle.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Can’t right now.”

He ignored the prickling at the corners of his eyes. Stared at the curve of Dean’s cheekbone turned away from him. He tried to imagine something soft would meet him soon, “I know it’s hard–”

“ _Do you_?”

“ _Yes_.”

Dean ducked his head.

“I will never…” Cas said, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “I will never understand, quite what you’re going through. I can’t imagine. Not being able to trust the people around you, trust your own mind… But this isn’t only happening to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to–”

“ _Goddammit, Dean_ .” He was suddenly so angry. Dean dropped his bottle and turned in alarm. “Will you _stop_ waiting for me to leave? It’s pissing me off.”

Dean stared at him with wide eyes.

“After what we’ve been through, after _everything_ , this is how you repay me? With doubt and rejection?”

“I’m not rejecting–”

“What else would you call this?” Seething. Seething was a good word. “Refusing to speak to me, acting like any second what we have is going to end, what is that if not rejecting me? Doubting my feelings for you. Am I not sitting here outside of _our_ house? Have I not mentioned that I’m in love with you?”

“That’s not–”

“ _I know_ you’re in pain.  It doesn’t give you the right to push me away– _look at me_.”

Dean met his eyes.

“Just stop, Dean. Just let me in.”

“I never meant to– I’m sorry, I’m being a dick. It’s just– I’m not in control. I can’t walk around and pretend shit’s okay when…”

“I’m not asking you to pretend.”

“I know,” Dean nodded, “I don’t want to push you away. I know you– I know you’re here to stay. This is all just fucking with me–”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“Come with me, I have an idea.” Cas took his hand and pulled him towards the house. Dean’s hand was steady and warm in his.

 

.

 

“What are those?” Sam asked. He had his mouth full of bagel, and when he gestured little crumbs ended up all over the table. Dean brushed them off with a glare.

“They’re cue cards, bitch, get away from me with those germs. I am very sick and you’re endangering my life by throwing around your disgusting viruses.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Brain tumours don’t lower your immune system, you jerk. What are they for?”

“It’s stupid,” Dean sighed.

“It’s been helpful,” Cas filled in, “when I’m not there to help, or when I’m not… useful. They are just facts, in his own handwriting. Helps him orient himself.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

“I feel like a kindergartener,” Dean muttered. “Hey, let’s start the day with some writing exercises! Everybody, write ten facts about yourselves on these colorful cards, then we can go around the room and talk about our favourite teddy bears!”

Sam leaned over Dean’s shoulder, “Well, you do write like a kindergartener. Cas, do we have crayons?”

Dean threw his pen at him. “Go back to California, moosebrains.”

 

* * *

 

They sat on the hood of the Impala and watched the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. Dean was laughing. The world was a cascade of orange and red and incomprehensible expanse.

“I can’t believe we drove all the way here,” Cas said. “I have class on Monday.”

Dean pulled Cas’ collar aside to kiss his collarbone. “You can roll in the TV set and sleep at your desk.”

Cas threw his head back, partly to laugh, partly to make sure Dean didn’t have to stop. “We have a projector, Dean, it’s not the nineteen nineties. I think you’re getting old.”

Dean bit him lightly. “Oh, and you’re down with the kids are you?”

“No one says that,” Cas sighed.

“Then what do they say?”

He glanced out across the Canyon. The sun was resting on the creeks and crevices and the other end was so unfathomable far away it might as well have been resting on the surface of the sun. It was an infinity encased in rock.

“They say– They say either kiss me or get off me and watch the sunrise.”

Dean grinned, “That’s very specific. And inappropriate.” But they kissed. Then leaned shoulder to shoulder and watched the patient synergism of light and shadow.

 

* * *

 

“Because I can look at him, and feel nothing, Sam.” Dean was saying. “I love him. I _love_ him, that’s one of the only things in my life I know for sure, but it feels kinda fucking fragile when I can suddenly look at him and not even know who he is. What kind of a person– what kind of a boyfriend does that make me?”

He hadn’t noticed that Cas was home yet. He could see Dean through the doorway to the living room. Dean sighed, nodded.

“Yeah, I know. I should be telling him this. What? Of course I’m not _going to_. I hurt him enough on a day to day basis.”

Another pause. Cas quietly hung his jacket on the rack, toed his shoes off.

“ _Because_ , Sam, I’m not a monster, could you look Jessica in the eye and say ‘oh, by the way, sometimes I don’t love you’?”

Whatever Sam said, it made Dean pick up a book from the coffee table and throw it as hard as he could against the wall. It made Cas flinch. Then he spoke in hushed tones, as if he knew someone could hear him. As if he hadn’t just thrown Cas’ copy of Egalia’s Daughters across the room. “Yes. Sam. Exactly. I _forget him_. And then I remember again, and I _don’t_ forget what he looked like when I couldn’t– I hurt him _so much_.”

Cas could only just make out the sound of Sam’s voice, but not what he was saying.

“ _How the fuck can it be worth it?_ Don’t you get it?” Dean collapsed on the couch. He buried his face in his hand. “I can’t break his heart anymore, Sam. I can’t do it.”

Cas went upstairs.

He pulled his sweater vest over his head and dropped it on the floor because what was the point of hanging it neatly. For a moment, he stood in their bedroom, feeling the cold of the wooden floor through the hole in his sock. In piles haphazardly strewn around were Cas’ books. Among them were car magazines he’d never think to read, and books about the revolutionary war and the wild west of which he had no particular interest. Dean’s things. The bed was half made; neat on his side, rumpled and warm on Dean’s. On his bedside table there was a picture of them at the Grand Canyon. Dean had the same one in his wallet and for once, Cas regarded his own expression rather than staring at Dean’s. It was like looking at a stranger. Dean had done that. Dean had made him shine.

He considered the word _life_.

When Dean found him, he was still standing there, but he was holding the frame tight in his hands. Even now, with the lump in his throat and the way he felt too small to fit in this house, Dean walked in and everything felt like it made a little more sense. Like the chaos of atoms spinning through an infinite universe with no destination and no purpose could just for a second stop and say _oh. It’s you_.

“When did you get home?” Dean asked. His casual tone had no place here. It jarred the stillness of the room.

“I heard.”

Dean’s fingers twitched on the fabric of Cas’ vest. Then he resumed folding it. He tossed it on the bed. “Did you hear the part where I said I love you?”

“Yes.”

“And the part about that I sometimes don’t.”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded for several long moments. “Okay.” He said.

Time became useless. There was no ticking clock in their bedroom to remind them of it passing. Their silences were fabric stretched over tongues. In between, their words seemed rushed and insubstantial.

“I’m not sure how to explain.” Dean began.

“I am.”

Dean sat at the foot of the bed.

“You’re sick. You are not to blame. When you know me, you love me. I know that.”

Silence.

Too loud voice: “Do you love me?”

Cas turned to watch him wringing his hands. Those words had hurt him more than anything Dean had ever said. He wondered if Dean knew that.

“I love you.”

“I’ve been sick the entire time you’ve known me.”

“No, you’ve been sick sometimes.” Cas walked over, surprised that his knees weren’t creaking and his heels weren’t crushing the floor. He sat next to Dean. He stopped himself from leaning on him. “Most of the time, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“Some of the time, I break your heart.”

“Yes. You do. I can’t deny it.”

Silence.

“But do you know what happens then? You remember. And you love me so fiercely I wonder at it.”

“I can’t keep breaking your heart.”

Silence.

Cas touched the back of Dean’s hand and his relief was intense when their hands tangled together because at least this is the same. This easy reach for each other.

“I was just looking at this picture.” He said, angling it towards Dean. “Can you tell me what I look like in it?”

Dean’s eyebrows twitched and he shook his head minutely. “I– I don’t know, you look normal.”

“Yes. In this picture, where I’m so incandescently happy I can barely recognize myself, you think that I look normal.”

Breaking point.

“I’m _sorry_.”

“You always remember."

They held each as tight as they could. Cas kissed the top of Dean’s head.

“You always remember.”

 

* * *

 

“50 percent chance?”

The Doctor nodded, face so schooled. A man who had done this many times. Whose sympathy was real but carefully organised.

“50 percent,” Dean nodded too.

When the rushing in Cas’ ears stopped, Sam was speaking.

“When can it be scheduled?”

“It is, of course, up to the patient whether or not he is ready to take that risk, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean?”

Dean was silent. The loudest silence of Cas’ life.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam was horrified.

“I’m so tired.”

Cas wondered when he had started crying.

 

* * *

 

“If I asked, would you marry me?”

“What?”

What might have been a blush was hidden under a sunburn.

“I’m not _asking_ , I’m just… wondering. If I asked, what would you say?”

Cas looked at the line of grease on Dean’s cheek bone.

“But you’re not asking?”

Dean’s eyes shifted back to the engine. The muscles of his arms stretched the sleeve of the old t-shirt he was wearing to it’s breaking point when he started back in on it with the wrench. Cas let a finger trail over some dirt by the line of his tricep, and goosebumps erupted suddenly on the warm skin. He smiled a little.

The sun was beating down on them and the Impala. Everything smelled like cut grass, oil, sweat, Dean’s shampoo. A neighbour walked by with his dog. Steven from down the road who had given Cas pointers of bird feed. Steven raised his hand in a friendly wave. Cas gave him a nod and a smile.

“I’m going to ask. Probably. Soon.” Dean said. He wasn’t looking at Cas but rather staring resolutely down at the engine. Cas hadn’t learned much yet, but he was pretty sure what Dean was doing was just loosening and tightening a valve. To no effect whatsoever.

“I want to be with you until one of us dies.” Cas said.

Dean dropped the wrench. Then he started shaking with silent laughter. He looked up at Cas, eyes shining, grin stretching his lips. He leaned his hands heavily on the car, and Cas was slightly distracted by his biceps again. Cas knew he was smiling too. He always smiled back at Dean. Summer had brought out a constellation of freckles across his skin, his hair was ruffled and damp, Cas had cut it yesterday. Dean usually did it himself with a pair of kitchen scissors. When Cas found out, he had gone out and bought a real pair. Last night Dean had sat on a stool in the bathroom, laughing more and more as Cas pressed his shoulders down, insisting that he sit still or he’d cut his ear off. On purpose. Then Cas was running his hands through Dean’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and Dean had let his head fall to the side with a groan. Things had deteriorated when Cas leaned down to press his lips to Dean’s collarbone, then his jaw, and Dean had sort of grabbed his neck a little and made sure Cas knew exactly where he wanted him. The scissors had clattered to the floor, forgotten.

There was still a mark on Dean’s collarbone.

“I love that _that_ is what you said.”

“Was there something wrong with it?” Cas frowned a little.

Dean didn’t usually love public displays of affection. He had no trouble sneaking off to have sex in a broom closet during a wedding, sure, and had more than once grabbed Cas’ ass in public. Affection, on the other hand, was doled out in private. A kiss on the cheek, twining their fingers together, resting his head on Cas’ shoulder; these were the things Cas had learned to treasure above all else.

Now, Dean turned around to sit lightly against the car, close to Cas side. He found Cas hand with his, and pressed his lips to his cheek for a short moment.

“No, you dolt,” he said, “there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. I just can’t believe that’s how I gotta tell people we got engaged. Sam’s gonna fucking lose it.”

The world was sun-warm and green, Dean’s fingers were rough and dirty, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“We’re engaged?”

Dean shot him a look, “we’re not?”

“I think we are.”

“I don’t want a wedding.”

“Neither do I.”

“Planning Sam’s was bad enough.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll wear a tie if you want me to.”

“Can you wear what you’re wearing now?”

Dean looked down at himself. “This? _Really_?”

“You’re wildly attractive.” He could hear how his voice had dropped a few octaves. Even if he hadn’t heard it, he’d be able to tell from the darkening of Dean’s eyes, and the way his hand clenched suddenly.

“Grease-stains too?”

“Yes.”

“‘Well you see, I asked how he felt about marriage, then he said he wanted to see me die, so now we’re married and I had to rub engine grease on my arms before I walked down the aisle.’” Dean said to no one.

Cas grinned, “that’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s probably how I’m gonna tell it.”

 

.

 

(Later, when they were lying in bed, the world finally cooling off, the moon coming out to bathe the world in soft white shadows, Dean whispered, “You’ll be able to be with me at the hospital. No one could stop you from reaching me.”

Cas nodded against his shoulder. “Yes. But it’s not why I’m marrying you. That was going to happen anyway. In every version of us. In every alternate universe.”

Dean slid further down the bed and pressed their foreheads together.

“Do you think there’s a universe out there where we’re immortal?”

“Probably a couple. Where we are together until the galaxies turn to fire and the stars crumble to dust. And still after that.”

“I want to be with you until one of us dies.”

“And still after that?”

“Yeah. Still after that.”)

 

* * *

 

Nothing hurts as much as when Dean forgets that he’s even sick.

Except–

(“Dean, it’s okay, it’s just me–”

“Who the fuck are you?”)

 

* * *

 

“I don’t wanna paint the fence white, it’s too cliché.” Dean said, “How about a dark green?”

“That could look nice.”

“The vines will basically cover it anyway, sooner or later.”

“We should find some colorful flowers that will survive when the vines aren’t blooming. It might get too green otherwise.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point. Speaking of, we should send flowers to Jessica, for the promotion? She likes lilacs. And something yellow.”

Cas winced.

“What? Oh. We already did that, didn’t we?”

Cas nodded.

“And I just forgot?”

“Yes.”

“Right, is today the nineteenth?”

“Twenty-first. April.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What else did I miss?”

Cas considered. “Dr. Sexy had relations with–”

Dean slapped a hand to Cas’ mouth, “Jesus, Cas, don’t _spoil it!_ ”

“But you’re already seen it.” He said into Dean’s palm.

“Yeah, but now I get to see it _again_. The little things, babe. It’s all in the little things.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s getting worse.”

“I thought it might be.”

“He forgets– He was in the wrong year yesterday.”

“A whole year?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been doing research, talking to his doctor and they have some of the best surgeons in the country right here in California. We’re hoping to transfer him for the surgery. Do you think– Could you convince him to come out here? I mean, could you get time off work?”

“I will make sure.”

“Good. I’ll see when I can get a time, it’s not going to be easy but–”

“There’s something else, Sam. He’s becoming… violent.”

“ _Shit_ , has he–?”

“No. No, he would never hurt me. But when it happens… the confusion scares him. He doesn’t trust people. He can’t work anymore.”

“I’ll… I’ll speed things along. And Cas, you’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

 

(“Sam loves you.”

“That’s gross. Is he still trying to get me to California?”

“Yes.”

“American health care sucks, I’m just saying. Hand me that wrench will you?”)

 

* * *

 

“I am so fucking proud of you.”

Cas ducked his head and tried not to grin too much. “You don’t care about the structures of ancient languages.”

Dean clinked their beers together, or rather, nudged Cas’ beer with his own a couple of times insistently. “Dude, you’re getting a PhD. I care about anything that lets me brag about you.”

“Who do you brag to? Sam? Bobby?”

Dean laughed, “Everyone at work, basically. And it’s always fun to remind Sam he’s not the smartest member of the family. His head is too big.”

Cas gave Dean all his fries. “Not family quite yet.”

Dean ate his fries. “Soon though.” They pressed their knees together under the table. “Are your students impressed?”

“Absolutely not. They thought I was going to be an actual doctor. They are immensely disappointed I will not be performing any open heart surgeries in the cafeteria.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed.

 

* * *

 

They danced. It was so unlike them.

Sam had brought them to a pub slash bar with food and a jukebox (and a karaoke machine that Dean would never be drunk enough to use, wedding day or not). Sam was in a booth, crying into his hamburger because he was the sappiest person they knew. Not they they had a lot of room to talk. They were dancing. Cas knew the music playing, vaguely. It was something Dean loved to sing when he thought no one could hear him. Slow and sweet. They were the only one’s dancing but there was no room for embarrassment. Not where their chests were pressed together. Not where Dean’s lips rested close to Cas’ ear, murmuring the words to no one but him. Not when there were fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. The room could have been empty. Dean and Cas were an isolated, untouchable point in the universe. Swaying in the midst of little stars suspended around their heads as if they were the centre of a galaxy and a gravitational pull.

“Ease my troubles, that’s what you do. Oh, the morning sun in all it’s glory…” Dean sang. His voice as warm and ragged as it had been on that balcony at the beginning of time.

They were married.

Dean had looked into his eyes and decided, again, to marry him. Had decided every single day since that first blazing summer afternoon. Had chosen Cas. For the rest of his life. As they danced words hung between them, greater than stars: like planets. Some unsaid, all heard.

 

“Where do you wanna go for our honeymoon?” Dean murmured.

“I don’t know. Let’s get the Impala and just drive.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason.”

 

(You’ll get the house. Please stay in it, if you can.

You built it, of course I’ll stay.)

 

“We’re gonna the best married couple ever.”

“We already are.”

“You’re gonna wear sweater vests and glasses and be mister professor guy until I make you retire and I’m gonna yell at kids to get off my lawn.”

“You already do that. You love your lawn.”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna be cooler when I have grey hair and a cane.”

 

(I want to be cremated.

Okay.

Don’t spread my ashes anywhere though, that’s so cliché. Just bury them.

Okay.)

 

“Do you think you will want children?”

“Man, I dunno.”

“Perhaps we will see how we feel about Sam’s, and then decide.”

 

(Sam gets the Impala.

I know.

Get a proper car. Bobby will help you.

Perhaps a blue one this time.

At least I had time to teach you how to do a tune up.)

 

“When we get back from California, we should buy a camera. Take more photos of shit.”

“That’s a good idea. To help us remember what the garden looked like before you completely gave up weeding it.”

“Yeah. To help us remember.”

 

(I want to be myself. I don’t want to become someone less than that. If I do… If they mess up and something goes wrong–

Dean, I can’t–

Don’t let me become someone I don’t know.

…

Please.

I’ll try.)

 

“I’m glad I married you.”

“I’m glad I married _you_.”

 

(I want to be with you until one of us dies.

And still after that?

…

Dean?

I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you a widower.)

 

* * *

 

Sam managed to stay in the waiting room. Cas could not. He clutched at his own ribs and wished that it was night. Because Dean had always been stars. It was the way he had come to think of him, in accordance with heavenly bodies; bright lights breaking up the dark.

It was just an afternoon in Sacramento.

 _Is he dying now?_ Cas shook his head quickly. Tried to focus on something else. _Is the heart monitor beeping out of control right now? Is a doctor yelling ‘we’re losing him’ like they always do on tv?_ Cas heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He tried to tell himself he was being stupid. But. When it came down to it. There was a fifty percent chance that it was exactly what was happening. As big odds of Dean surviving, being rolled out to them by a smiling surgeon, waking up with a tired grin and some… witty comment, wittier than Cas could ever dream to be. Yes, just as big odds as Dean dying on a table, head cracked open–

His last words to Dean had been ‘I love you’. He felt like an idiot now. Such a poor choice, so insipid, nothing new, nothing _comforting_. Perhaps he should have stayed with Sam. They could help each other. Comfort.

“Hi,” Sam said and sat down next to him. “I thought you could use the company,” they sat. He looked ragged, worn down, hollow. He was scared too. “That was a lie. I want company.”

Cas didn’t manage to speak. He pulled a thread on his trousers as hard as he could. It cut into his palm. Sam was scared but trying not to let it show.

“Jess is getting coffee.” Sam said. “The coffee here sucks, but you know that. You’ve been drinking it too. Dean’s lucky, not being allowed to have any.” It was a bad attempt at a joke, and the quirk of Sam’s lip fell quickly into nothing.

 

(Dean was drinking coffee out of his Pendleton National Park-mug and reading the newspaper like he wasn’t sliding one socked foot further and further up Cas’ leg.)

 

“I talked to this nurse about changing the channel in the waiting room, I don’t think I can take another second of Dr. Sexy, honestly it’s just inappropriate for a hospital.”

 

(“Are you gay?”

“Dean we literally just had sex.”

“Duh, I know, but are you gay?”

Cas shrugged, “I’m not sure. I don’t mind not knowing.”

“Hm,” Dean threw a leg over him, “I’m pretty sure I was straight until season three of Dr. Sexy.”

Cas smiled, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Shut up and cuddle me.”

“You started it–”

“Shh.”)

 

“Apparently they don’t even have the remote, it’s locked up somewhere. I tried to tell them people didn’t need to be watching people dying in a hospital show while their loved ones were–”

“What’s the last thing you said to him?”

Sam went quiet and still. He looked wary, betrayed. “Don’t–”

“I said ‘I love you’. It was insufficient, dull. I regret it now. Dean can’t have appreciated it. Did you come up with something better?”

Sam didn’t answer. Cas would have looked at him but he was caught staring at a thin, wispy cloud hovering close to the horizon. He wished it was night. Or at least raining, storming, savagely wrecking.

 

(He had been on his way back from the restroom when Sam and Jessica stepped out of Dean’s room. Sam was shaking, Jessica was holding his hands so hard their knuckles were white.

“They have to take him now, they’re about to roll him in. You can still have a moment if–”

Cas was already inside the room. He didn’t hear the end of Sam’s sentence. Didn’t care. Dean’s jaw was clenched tight. They looked at each other for several long moments. Was it silence? Or was it a black hole, swallowing everything and anything so greedily even light died between its teeth?)

 

“I told him not to die.” Sam said.

“I think he’s dead.”

Sam shook his head. “He’s not dead. We’re just scared.”

“It feels like he’s died.”

And suddenly he was sure. Dean must be dead. It was a moment of absolute clarity, sparking like electricity under his temple. In this very moment the doctor was putting the paddles back, sighing, wiping his forehead. The machine would still be on. One long, piercing sound the only thing still panicking in the room; the only thing saying _look, look, his heart is not beating, do something about it, save him_ while the nurses were pulling off their gloves and shaking their heads in pity and turning their minds to the next patient, the next loved one. The doctor would turn off the machine. ( _time of death–_ ) He was probably sad. It must be sad to lose patients, especially the ones with family. They would roll his body down to the morgue. He wondered if Dean had felt it. Would dying hurt, even under anesthesia? Did doctors sow up the patients if they died on the table? Would they be stitching Dean’s head together again before they left the OR? Would they be leaving it open, gaping, for Cas and Sam and Jess to stare down into–

Would the doctor be telling them himself? Or sending someone? Cas wondered how he would react to the words, now that he knew already. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Was that better?

“Oh god, what if he dies?” Sam said, and then he was crying. Jessica wrapped her arms around him and he fell into her. She kissed his hair. She looked at Cas, her eyes shining with pity.

Cas stood.

“Cas–” Jessica might have said. He walked away. Sam would be alright because he had Jessica to hold him. Jessica to spend his life with. They would have children, raise them to know the memory of their uncle. They would grow old together. The surety of their embrace was achingly familiar.

Like ghosts, hands brushed his arms and wrapped around him from behind and he stopped as if he could lean into them. As if they were anything more than memory. As if it would ever again be anything more than memory. He pressed his eyes shut and tried to feel it. Stubble, warmth, pressure, shaking laugh, bursting sunlight. There was nothing. Just his trenchcoat resting lightly on his shoulders, a little wind on his neck. It was just an afternoon in Sacramento.

He was standing in the parking lot somehow. Next to a Volvo. Dean would have scoffed at it. “Useless cars,” Cas could still remember his voice. How long would that last? When would he start to forget? Sam was going home to a house filled with life soon. Cas would be going– Except for what was in their suitcases all of Dean’s possessions were in their house. Dean’s house. No, Cas’ house. Because Dean was dead and he left him the house. Cas would be going back to the empty rooms and the wild garden. He could almost feel the grass under his feet. Could see the vines growing, growing out of control, the leaves falling off the trees and the trunks twisting in on themselves, the fruit rotting, the flowers bleeding, the house creaking under a massive weight. The rooms would whisper to him. The floors would ask, where is he?

 

(“I keep thinking you’re impossible.”

Dean stopped laughing, twitched an eyebrow at him in question.

“You’re shining so bright.”)

 

He was breathing too quickly. Would the world ever make sense again? Would this displacement he felt in his bones, soothed by green eyes and a deep voice, now sink into him like lead, would it leak into the little crevices of him and forever weigh him heavily into the ground?

Never again would he make Dean laugh. Never again would Dean make him feel young and silly and invincible. Pressure was pushing his ribs into his chest cavity. Could they break?

 

(“Let’s go inside,” Jessica was saying to Sam, although Cas could not hear them.

“But, Cas–” Sam said.

“Dean’s doctor is looking for us, I can see him.”)

 

Castiel was a widower. He pressed his lips against his ring, pushing so hard he could feel metal cutting into his teeth. No time at all. Not even time for a tan line to appear on either side of it. A young ring, a young marriage. In the grand scheme of things not even the length of a blink, an inconsequential dot in the map of the universe, their marriage was. And yet, and yet, and yet. He wasn’t crying. He couldn’t remember how. There was just that terrible pressure on his ribs, his lungs sucking in and pushing out oxygen, again and again when all it did was push on his organs and aching ribs and keep him alive, allow his body to keep working, the cogs to keep spinning, whilst Dean was still, he wasn’t supposed to ever be still and Cas wasn’t supposed to ever be a widower–

“ _Cas!_ ” Sam’s voice. He turned, their eyes met. The second it took for Sam to fill his lungs and speak again, was the worst moment of Cas’ life. “He’s awake.”

 

(Before the surgery. Dean’s hospital room. A void. Dean’s frantic eyes and his outstretched hand reaching for Cas.

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” Dean whispered.

Cas shook his head.

“ _Promise me you’ll be okay_.”

His husband was scared and reaching for him and he couldn’t move an inch. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten; forgotten that stars burn. Stars die. The world wasn’t actually shaking, he was just shaking his head.

Dean looked so betrayed, “ _Cas_?” His fingers were twitching in the air.

“I won’t–” he heard his own voice saying, “I won’t be okay.”

A wounded sound made it’s way out of Dean’s throat and he covered his face with his hands– there was the wedding ring, gleaming dully under fluorescent lights. Cas went to him. He tangled their fingers together – _don’t let it be the last time_ – and kissed him, kissed every inch of skin he could find, wanted to inhale him, fold him tightly inside so he could never leave, pressed his lips hard against Dean’s wedding ring, didn’t realise the wrenching in his chest and the strange strangled noises were sobs until Dean started shushing him gently. He whispered nonsense into Cas’ ear, he said Cas was going to be okay.

“Don’t comfort me–” He might have been saying, “don’t comfort me, you’re the one who–”

“Schh, breathe. Cas, please breathe.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

Dean’s trembling fingers were tangling into his hair, but Cas was shaking violently. He pressed his face against Dean’s neck, clawed at his hospital gown.

“What do I do without you I only just found you–”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was strangled, but his fingertips were pressing into Cas’ scalp and he was stroking Cas’ elbow with his other hand, “You’re going to be okay, because you have to be. You have to be okay for me–”

“I love you,” they were the only words he could press into Dean’s skin with his lips. Tiny, insufficient, all he had. “I love you, I love you, I–”)

 

“ _Dean_ –”

“Cas–?”

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

 


End file.
